Firepower by John Cutter (best ebook pdf reader android .TXT) 📗

that he was still wearing a black mask and carrying an assault rifle, he threw himself flat in a grassy ditch by the road shoulder.

Had they seen him?

Sirens shrieking, the patrol car roared by and kept going.

Vince got to his feet, picked up the rifle. He had thought about burying the rifle and the other gear, maybe in a windbreak. But there was other people’s blood on them — and his own sweat had gotten onto the weapons. He had no wish to be tied in to the killings with DNA. Supposedly the FBI was going to cover for him. But Agent Deirdre Corlin was not the head of the Bureau. A lot could go sideways…

He took a deep breath and ran across the road into another field. It was a slog across that muddy, cow-pat strewn field, and his balaclava was soaked with sweat. He tore it from his face as he reached the screen of trees by the river.

He pushed through the brush and found himself on the banks of the Oostanaula River. It was a fairly broad, dark-green river, snaking through the night.

Vince stepped up to the edge of the riverbank and threw the assault rifle as far out as it would go, into the water. Then he followed it with the mask, his combat belt, the Glock and ammo, his gloves, the night vision goggles, and finally the armored vest.

He kept his knife. He’d had it a long, long time.

Vince reckoned to follow the trail along the river to the next town — the map had put it a mile away — and dodge the cops while he looked for some transport. Probably would take two or three Greyhound buses to get back to Stonewall, Alabama.

*

“I’ve got a mission for you, Bobby,” said the General.

“Yes sir!” said Bobby Destry, without a clue what he was saying yes to.

He was just giddy to be out of his cell, standing in front of Professor Gustafson’s desk, poised there in parade rest like a person who knew what the hell he was doing.

Mac Colls was standing behind the General with his arms crossed, watching Bobby narrowly. Behind Bobby was Marco, who’d brought Bobby here under armed guard.

It was early in the morning, and Gustafson was drinking his second cup of coffee. “Like some coffee, Bobby?”

“Me? I…” He would. But he didn’t feel like he should. “I’m good, General.”

“Alright, now — here’s the thing. I’m going to need you to go on a kind of undercover mission. We have a big tactical action coming up, and I’m going to need decoys to keep them looking the wrong way. You’re going to pretend to be wearing an explosive vest. It’ll look like one, but it won’t be one. You’ll call the police from downtown D.C., and you’ll say that some Antifa types put it on you, and they’re going to detonate it. They’ll organize a bomb squad and a whole host of people will surround you. Eventually they’ll figure out it’s not real and you’ll act as if you were deceived. They’ll let you go. But by then we’ll have gotten our men into place for… our critical action. You can rejoin us after that. This is an important job, Bobby… can I count on you?”

“I…” Bobby’s heart was pounding. “Do I have to go back to my cell, Professor? Until the… the decoy action?”

“Bobby — I’m afraid so. You were talking treason around here.”

“I think I was misunderstood, sir.”

“Mac here heard what you said.”

“I didn’t misunderstand a goddamn thing,” Mac growled.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Sure, Sarge, but still—”

“It won’t be long, now, Bobby,” Gustafson said. “I’ll tell you what — we’ll bring you out for certain activities. Centurion training, that sort of thing. We’ll have a guard watching you. You won’t be able to talk during that time, however. A rule of silence.”

“That’s…” Bobby was aswirl with conflicting feelings. There was elation, to have some relief from the cell, and a way out of it completely, in time. And there was fear.

Suppose the explosive vest was real? Or suppose the cops simply shot him?

No. The Brethren didn’t use tactics like suicide vests. That was Al-Qaeda terrorist stuff. They just wouldn’t do that…

Which meant he could let the cops figure out there were no explosives on him. Then he could go free — and he could stay far, far away from the Brethren after that. He’d never rejoin them, not for real.

He saluted and said, “Yes, sir, General. Anything you need me to do.”

Gustafson nodded, stood up, and shook Bobby’s hand. “Good man! Marco, escort this man to the cafeteria, give him some food, then take him back to his cell.”

“Yes sir! Come on, Destry.”

Gustafson watched as Marco escorted Bobby Destry from the room. Then he nodded to himself. “He will be useful.”

Mac turned to Gustafson and said, “Suppose he figures out the explosives are real?”

“He won’t. He has no expertise of that kind.” He put some artificial sugar in his coffee and added, “When we detonate the vest, he will die so quickly he won’t even feel it. A good death, in a great cause.”

“The word has come that Dex Stirner was found shot to death, sir,” Mac said.

“Ah! So it was confirmed! Wonderful! But what about Bellator?”

“As to that, General — no word.” With a private smile, Mac added, “I suspect the police picked him up.”

“That would be a shame. I had plans for him. And suppose he tells the police who ordered the assassination of Stirner?”

“The local sheriff’s department, over there, is run by Jake Ferret, General.”

“Oh — I’d forgotten! Jake’s one of us! So if Bellator looks like he’s going to flip on us…”

“Yes sir. Jake will find a good reason the prisoner had to be shot.